


Exterminate (or Erin's Private Hell)

by GBHoltzFan



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 22:30:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GBHoltzFan/pseuds/GBHoltzFan
Summary: This is mainly a trip into Erin's thoughts. It's not a happy place. Holtz tries to help.





	

"Exterminate"

That's what the Daleks repeat non-stop, that's what you tell yourself "Exterminate feelings".

You don't want to feel anything towards your co-worker, however perfect she may be. Your life is so empty, you are so hungry for love. You know how painful one-sided puppy love is. You know how clingy you become in a relationship, how toxic it becomes. You know you have nothing to offer this woman. You want to run away before it poisons you. But you can't let Abby down again and besides it's your job. 

You let yourself dream for a moment and imagine hugging her, being hugged by her. You stop it by playing back in your mind non-stop "exterminate feelings".

Her smile, her eyes invade your mind unless you will yourself to concentrate on something, anything, even if it means scratching old painful scabs. If you hurt enough from something else then perhaps you can shut her out of your mind.

You can't confront Holtz about her flirting. You'd have to explain why it hurts so much. You'd have to expose yourself for what you are, a middle-age, weak, lonely, unattractive, socially awkward, emotionally unstable, pathetic closet case starving for affection. The only thing you have going for you is your affinity for particle physics. That's the only thing you can hold on to, that's the only thing that keeps you alive.

Every time she winks at you, every time she smiles at you, every time she touches you, it hurts. You want to run, hide in a corner and cry your eyes out. There's no getting use to it. Exterminate feelings.

Why doesn't she stop?

Patty and Abby comment on how unfriendly you are to Holtz, how she feels you don't approve of her. Is it because she's gay? Is it because of the way she dresses, the way she acts? "You're being a bitch." they say. It hurts. "I haven't meant to be rude, I'm just caught up in my work." you answer. You can't look them in the eyes because you fear they'll see the sadness. 

You avoid being left alone with Holtz but one night it happens. You bump into her as you're going back to your desk with a cup of tea. She apologizes and takes a step sideways to let you through. "Erin..." she says, her blue eyes searching yours. You agonize, afraid she'll ask why you are so distant. She bites her lip, lowers her gaze, "Good night" she says softly. "Good night, Holtz" you answer, stiffly. You keep on walking. She goes her way and out the door. You've spilled half your cup of tea by the time you reach your desk.

You hate yourself for being such a coward. You saw the hurt in her eyes. She doesn't deserve that. You're mentally kicking yourself harder than anyone could ever do. You can't even get back into your work. You turn off the lights and leave. On your way home, you stop and buy a bottle of vodka. If you drink enough, fast enough, perhaps you'll stop hurting and you'll fall asleep.

The next morning you wake up, hungover. You reach for a glass of water and tylenols. You feel awful. "Suck it up, buttercup." you tell yourself. At least you slept. You get to work, you're the last one in. Patty is telling a story. Abby and Holtz are bent in two, laughing so hard. "Good morning" you say, to no one in particular, making a beeline to the coffee machine. Your hands are shaking. You feel like you're gonna throw up. You force down half a cup before going to your desk. Abby calls after you "Hey, you gotta listen to this." You pretend you didn't hear and walk a little bit faster. You can't be around people right now.

Holtz comes in the lab, turns on the music. You look up. Your eyes meet for a moment. You get back to work, silently. You'd like to explain it's not her, it's you. But you can't. You won't. You will yourself back to those damn equations. Shortly before lunch, she asks if you'd come and try her latest invention. She's trying to be cheery. You fake a smile and follow her outside. She proudly puts a proton mini-gun in your hand, explaining how it works. She puts a hand on your back. You take a step forward, away from her. You pull the trigger. It works, naturally. This is ingenious for close-quarter fighting. You know she made this especially for you, as a peace offering. You congratulate her, hand her back the gun and leave. You can feel her eyes on your back as you walk away. At least she can't see your eyes filling with tears for being such an asshole.

You make an effort to be sociable at lunch. You listen to the conversation, you nod and smile at the right times. You have nothing to say, nothing to share. You're empty. You're a shell. You're the first one to leave the table. Your stomach feels a bit better. You just want to get back to work. You don't want feelings to sneak back into your head. You look forward to polishing off the bottle of vodka tonight: at least you slept. You make a mental note to pick-up another one on your way home, in case there's not enough left.

You know booze is not the answer. You've seen your dad drink himself to sleep every night, passing out in the lazyboy chair, sometimes pissing himself. At least, it knocks you out until you have to go to work the next day. Perhaps it will give you the courage to do something, to finally do something about yourself, to end this charade you call your life, to stop the hurt. Perhaps some day... For now, it buys you time.

The next day, the day after and the following week you follow the same regiment. It's your own private hell. Abby keeps asking if you're ok. "Nothing's the matter. I haven't taken a vacation in a long time, perhaps I'll take a few days off next month." you offer. 

You can't put them off again so you go for a drink on Friday night. You offer to get a round. You get to the bar, order the beers, and get a double vodka, neat. You don't notice Holtz coming back from the washroom, watching you. You down the drink before you go back to the table. You don't want to lose control, you want to make it look like you're having a good time. 

You're sitting next to Holtz. She's being her usual self. Abby gets the next round. You can feel the heat from her arm resting against yours. Patty orders shooters, you gulp yours and order another round. Abby teases you about being a lightweight drinker. You laugh. On your way to the dance floor, you throw a $10 on a server's tray, and help yourself to two more shots. You're drunk. 

You all decide it's time to leave. Patty and Abby share a cab. You wave a cab, get in. Holtz slips in besides you. "I want to make sure you get home safely." she says. By the time you get home, the booze has hit you hard. You can hardly walk. Holtz pays the cab and physically walks you to your apartment door. You fiddle with the key and drop it. She picks it up, unlocks the door, and brings you in. 

You wobble to the kitchen. She follows you. She notices the empties in the recycling box and looks at you. You don't want to look at her. She gets you a glass of water, tells you to drink it, walks you to your bed, pulls the blankets down, gets you to lay down. She takes off your shoes, covers you, and you're asleep (or unconscious) before she leaves the room.

The next day, you get up, run to the washroom, puke until there's nothing left to puke. On your way back to bed, you notice the tv is on, low. You take a step. Holtz is sitting on the couch. You try to remember. It's coming back, she took you home and put you to bed. 

"Hi! You're still here?" you say. Not to sound ungrateful, you add "Thanks for last night. I over did it, didn't I?" croaking a nervous laugh.

"Yeah, you had quite a bit there, Erin." You feel trapped. Should you sit on the couch with her, go back to bed. At least offer her coffee for her trouble. "I can make some coffee. Want some?" Perhaps she'll decide to leave. 

"Why don't you sit down, I'll make the coffee. You should have something to settle your stomach. You have bread?" Holtz is off to the kitchen while you're parking your ass on the sofa. 

You sit in agony. Your head is throbbing. Your stomach is doing somersaults. You're shaky. You wanna die, you want Holtz to leave. Fuck, this is self-inflicted, you don't deserve her help, especially not after... You don't have the strength to think "exterminate".

She calls you in the kitchen. The coffee is ready. She puts two toasts in front of you, a glass of water and the bottle of tylenol. "Better eat before you take the tylenols." she advises.

You smile weakly and thank her. "No problemo" she chirps back.

You're not in a talking mood. She's quiet. From the corner of your eye, you see the recycling box. Holtz being Holtz, you know she saw it. 

She finishes her coffee, puts the empty cup in the sink. Before she leaves, she asks if she can come back tomorrow. There's no escaping it. She doesn't need to explain. "Sure, why don't you come for dinner? 6 o'clock?"

"Will do, 6 it is." and she's off. No goodbyes.

Oh shit. You can't deal with this right now. You take a last mouthful of coffee and drag yourself to the couch. As you lay your head on the cushion, you notice it smells like Holtz, spicy musk. It's comforting.

You sleep a few hours, shower, dress, and go grocery shopping for tomorrow night. You make a point of emptying the damn recycling box. You open the cupboard door, eye the vodka and decide against it. Your stomach is in no shape for a drink.

You crash on the couch and check what's on. Nothing. You turn to Netflix, pick a movie, any movie. It doesn't matter. You just want your head busy with mindless something. You wonder if Holtz will say anything to Abby about the booze. Abby would come down on you like a ton of bricks. No, Holtz wouldn't do that, not without talking with you first. Is that what tomorrow is about? It must be. Either that or she wants to know why I ignore her. Oh shit. I can't face that. If I'm gonna do something, it has to be now. No, I can't do that to Holtz. 

You pour yourself a drink to steady your nerves. You spit it back in the sink. It tastes awful. It's too early to go to sleep. Your mind is spinning. You grab the cushion and bring it to your nose. You think of Holtz, how bright her smile shines, how self-assured, easy going she is. She's barely 33 and already the top in her field. And you think "I am nothing, nothing, never was, never will be, for anyone." The cushion muffles your sobs. "Nothing."

You wake up, aching, your eyes are puffy, red. You don't even want to look at your reflection in the mirror. You compute a time line for dinner to be ready on time while you drink your first coffee. You check your emails - nothing personal, mostly newsletters. You delete them. You have to act normal tonight. You want to be a gracious, relaxed hostess. Yeah. Small talk. Music. Jazz? Big band jazz. We can talk shop. She loves to go into the nitty-gritty details of her inventions. That's safe. Perhaps talk about travels or our plans for our summer holidays. Light chit-chat. Nothing personal. Ok, you can do this. Act normal.

You spend the next hours cleaning every inch of your apartment. You set up the table, with a nice tablecloth, bring out the serving dishes. Prepare the salad, mix the dressing, cut the veggies. The roast is ready to go in the oven. You place the dinner buns in a basket, fill the butter dish. You prepare a platter of cheese, rinse the strawberries, and ready the chocolate for the fondue, place a bottle of Beaujolais on the table. Everything is perfect. You still have 2 hours to go. Time to shower and dress. You choose a pretty but modest black dress. You do your hair and try to fix the bags under eyes. A few drops of visine should help clear the redness. You have 30 minutes to go. You preheat the oven and put the roast in. You go back to check your make-up, your hair. Good to go. You turn on the light in the dinning room and in the living room. You wait, nervously.

At precisely 6, there's a soft rap at the door. You open the door with a smile.

Holtz is standing there, black jeans, button-down black shirt, two top buttons undone, a loose black neck tie, a purple vest. Her hair looks so soft. She hands you flowers.

"Come in" you say with a smile. "These are for me? Thank you".

"You look great." She follows you in the kitchen, looking around "It smells delicious. What's cooking, Doc?" You reach for a vase, fill it half way with water and place the flowers on the dinning room table. She follows you in the dinning room. "You didn't have to go through all that trouble. That's beautiful." slightly taken back by the formal setting. 

You offer her a beer while you put the other things to cook. You invite her to have a seat in the living room. Right off the bat, you want to take control of the conversation so you ask her what she was up to today. The conversation is interrupted by the stove buzzer. Everything is almost ready. You ask her help to carry the salad and dressing to the table, while you fill the serving plates. You serve the wine while Holtz slices the roast. She's impressed with the meal. You eat as slowly as possible to postpone what must be the inevitable discussion.

Holtz loves dipping the berries in chocolate. She's such a kid at heart. It makes you happy to have done something special for Holtz. You watch her eating. You know she's gone the extra mile to dress-up tonight. That's so sweet of her. And she's attractive, very attractive. She helps you clear the table and you go back to the living room, apprehensive.

Misty starts playing. "Would you make me the honour?" her baby blues looking at you. You take her hand. You blush a bit, but that's ok. She keeps your hand in hers, places her other hand on your hip. You put your hand on her shoulder. She leads, naturally. It's a bit strange dancing with someone shorter than you, dancing with a woman yet it's so comfortable. You fall in step, close your eyes, get a little closer, close enough to rest your forehead on her shoulder, smell her perfume. 

You don't move when the next song starts, she slightly accelerate to keep the beat. "I love big band jazz" she whispers in your ear and stars humming the tune. She really gets into it with Mack the Knife. You relax, match her movements. Once in awhile, she peeks into your eyes with a smile checking no doubt on your comfort level. God, this is the most at peace you've been for months. You tell her so as the first bars of Moonlight Serenade play. She brings you closer, you feel her heart beat, her breath against your neck. It feels so damn good, you don't want the song to end. 

But it does. Holtz straightens up a bit and ask to use the washroom, making such a funny face you can't help but laugh. While she's gone, you put the leftovers in the fridge. She comes back in the kitchen. You're facing the sink. She places her hands on your hips and starts moving you to the rhythm of the music. You turn. "Holtz?" She winks, smile and kiss your cheek, takes you by the hand to the couch. You don't know what to expect. She turns off the lights, sits down next to you, her arm around your shoulder. You're getting nervous.

Her voice is so soft, you strain to hear what she is saying. "I've been in pretty dark places myself, done stuff I'm not proud of. For the longest time, the only thing that kept me alive was tinkering, inventing, perhaps hoping subconsciously that one poof would be the last. I've had my heart broken so many times I felt empty, like it could never be glued back together again, kinda Humpty Dumpty. Rebecca and later Abby kinda saved me from myself."

You know from the way she hesitates and goes monotone, that what she is telling you is causing her an inordinate amount of stress. You squeeze her hand. You feel so damn bad you're causing her pain. It hurts, it is hurting her. But she goes on.

"You don't have to tell me anything. You can tell me anything you want and I won't think any less of you. You are very dear to me. You are a brilliant scientist. Hell, I couldn't have built any of the toys if it had not been for your science. You are a beautiful woman who deserves a beautiful life."

She stopped. She's waiting for you to say something. "The drinking is new, a couple weeks. It's just a way to pass out between the time I get here until I have to go back to work the next day. I'm not where I expected to be, you know, married, a couple of kids, happy. I must have been kidding myself dreaming about that stuff. I'm right smack in the middle of a pity party and I want out."

Holtz doesn't say anything. She rubs your shoulder. She said she wouldn't think any less of you. Perhaps you should go on. "It's the first time since Phil dumped me that I'm cooking for someone else. I had forgotten how good it feels. I've never danced like I did with you tonight, I've only dreamed about it."

"Holtz, why are you so kind to me?"

"It makes you uncomfortable?" 

"No, yes. I don't know why. You're nice with Patty, you adore Abby. Is it kindness or pity?"

"Erin, no, Erin. I don't know the words for feelings. That's not my department. I love to see you smile, to see you relax, soften, when you let go and let your light shine. And you don't even know how fuckin' hot you are. I don't understand why that asshole didn't treat you like a queen. You deserve so much more. If you swung my way, I know I would..." Holtz let those words hang in the air, unsure how to continue. 

You've never been straight a day in your life, just too afraid to admit it, to act on it. And women just assumed you're straight. Holtz can invent a ghost radar but her gaydar is not beeping? You danced with her, her arm is around your shoulder, you're holding hands and her fucking gaydar doesn't go off? 

"Holtz, I'm not" you struggle with the words "I don't know where I sit on the Kinsey scale, but I am attracted to women. And that's what has been eating at me ever since we started working together."

Holtz is shaking her head, laughing. She jumps up, pulls you up. "Will you dance with me, Erin?" 

"Yes"

Sinatra's "All the Way" is playing in the background. The timing is perfect.


End file.
